


a funny thing happened on the way down join avenue

by feralphoenix



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series)
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 12:47:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17808227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feralphoenix/pseuds/feralphoenix
Summary: Rosa interrogates her top employee.





	a funny thing happened on the way down join avenue

**Author's Note:**

> _(have to be odd to be number one_ – “I’ll leave you with words someone told me once. Dream your dream!”)
> 
>  
> 
> inspired by actual events on my real save file!
> 
> hey nintendo? it's really cool how you let leaf out of your basement, would you mind doing the same for all the other girl player characters next???

You don’t recognize her at first.

You know what she looks like—everyone in Unova knows what she looks like, has seen her on TV or on the cover of Trainers Weekly—but you’re used to matching the face with a bushy ponytail pulled through a ball cap. You’re used to seeing the fourteen-year-old, fresh from Championship victory, in the golden era before she conceded her position and flew off to the other side of the world on the back of a legendary dragon. The messy braids, the bare head, the more sober clothes make her seem like a different person. At first she’s just another trainer asking for a spot to set up a shop, and you’re too dazzled by your blooming career as an entrepreneur so you just say sure and let her.

But eventually you get her name and your brain belatedly adds two and two. You plant your hands on the counter of her little café and lean in and hiss, _“What are you DOING here????”_

She slow blinks at you and reaches up to scratch at her hairline; you think for a moment that it looks like she was grabbing for the hat that she isn’t wearing. “I’m selling people food for themselves and their Pokémon. Obviously.”

And her store is the most popular one on the avenue by far—you always get glowing praise whenever you recommend someone to visit her; lately she has lines in the afternoon, people asking her for this combo or that special, all oblivious that they’re talking to their previous champion. It sort of makes you feel a little less dumb for not copping on, but it also sort of makes you even madder and you don’t understand why.

“Do NOT try to distract me with semantics,” you huff, crossing your arms. “What happened to traveling the world? Looking for your friend? All that big heroic League Champion stuff???”

“Didn’t anybody ever teach you,” she says, tilting her chin back, “that when you’re lost it’s better to stay in one spot, since that makes you easier to find?”

“I thought it was your _friend_ who was lost,” you tell her, narrowing your eyes. “That sounds so bogus and fake. Is it because you’ve heard about Team Plasma coming back with a bad makeover? I’ve run into plenty of them so far. Is it like a sting operation? Since they’d just run away if you fought them head-on? Or are you hiding from your fans? We _are_ right next to Nimbasa.”

“If Looker is chasing Plasma grunts around he hasn’t told me about it,” she says, “and my musicals weren’t so popular that I’m going to get hordes of people chasing me.” (That is _not_ what the people who come to yours say—you are, in fact, getting tired of everyone telling you how you look just like her—but you’re not going to tell HER that.) She turns her back on you and starts messing with the drink dispenser instead. “I think you’ve been reading too many movie scripts, little miss blockbuster star. Maybe it’s a lot simpler than that. Maybe I’m just tired.”

Her Lilligant passes her cups carefully dried from the rack at the sink. She often has Pokémon with her, but well-trained as they seem, none of them are from her championship teams: She never sends out the mighty Emboar or the serene Musharna most often photographed with her for publicity. As for Reshiram, it might fit under the ceiling, but it would probably take up most of her stall.

“If you’re so _tired,”_ you say at last, “why not just go home?”

She sighs with her shoulders. “Because Cheren gets to be a Gym Leader and Bianca is a researcher and they deserve some time to be looked up to without me there to overshadow them. Because if everyone knows where I am then I will have people coming to me to save them from Team Plasma, et cetera, and I did my quota of world-saving when I was fourteen, thanks. Because I have a restaurant to run. It’s fun.”

It’s so hard to find the words to put to why this is making you so angry. “But _why is the sixteen-year-old Unova champion running a business on my avenue.”_

She glances back at you and the look in her eyes would peel paint. “Why is a thirteen-year-old rando trainer with a handful of badges managing an entire strip mall?”

“I am not _thirteen,_ I’m _fifteen,”_ you say, even managing to not stamp your foot. “And if your point is that why don’t grownups act like grownups and do more of this stuff, your hiding out back here isn’t really helping.”

“Sixteen is not even a little bit grown up,” she says flatly. “Not even close. I can get back to being a Responsible Champion when I’m in my twenties. I know we all want to be the very best like no one ever was, but you’ll understand when you get there. _If_ you get there.”

And there it is: She’s talking like her predecessor Alder does, like she’s all washed up, and she’s not even a year older than you. She’s the one whose shoes you imagined yourself in at night before you finally got your own first Pokémon, she’s supposed to be all cool and suave and austere instead of _this._ It’s selfish to be disappointed in her, but still—

“So go work on your league challenge, Rosa,” she says. “Stay out of Team Plasma’s hair, or don’t, whichever, I’m not your goddamn mom. If you see N out there, tell him I said hi and that he can suck my dick for disappearing all dramatically way back when, and also give him my number so we can at least stay in touch.”

“I’m not going to proposition some older guy I’ve never met before just for you,” you tell her. “At least do that part yourself.”

“Maybe I will. Do the other two then.”

“I’m not making any promises.”

She turns back to the coffee maker and clanks around with it. “That’s right—they’re having a world tournament down in Driftveil soon, aren’t they? Word on the grapevine is that even Leaf is coming over from Kanto. She’s the only recent champion I haven’t met yet. That ought to be fun. Maybe I’ll go watch—or even fly in to participate from ‘overseas’. Maybe I’ll even let you know to come to Driftveil if you want an asskicking, when the time comes.”

“Sure, but I’m not the one whose ass is gonna get kicked,” you tell her, crossing your arms and leaning your elbows onto the countertop. “Pretty bold of you to act like you’ve already reached the top and nobody’ll ever be better than you, like you don’t have room to grow anymore. You are _so_ wrong and I will _so_ prove it to you.”

“Pretty bold of _you_ to issue that kind of challenge when you’ve only got—what, four badges so far?” When Hilda turns to face you, fastening a lid to the cup in her hands, a sneer is creasing her face as dark as anything you’ve ever seen on Hugh’s. “You sure you can make it in time, little girl?”

You aren’t at all, but now you’re feeling good and spiteful. “If I were you, I’d worry more about staying in battling form.”

Here she grins: And for a second she actually looks her age, looks like herself. “I’ll look forward to that, then.” She puts the cup next to your elbow and pats it. “Here you go, Boss. It’s on the house.”

Cautiously, you pick it up and take a sip: It’s hot and it’s strong, but it’s also blacker than your Umbreon’s fur. _Bleugh._

She’s already grinning at you sticking your tongue out, though, so instead of demanding creamer you take a hearty swig.


End file.
